Adventures in Egypt

Trouble in Turkey

Istanbul, 7 days later

I stepped off the train amid clouds of steam and the chatter of foreign voices. Clutching my suitcase tightly, I waved to Tad and Harold, who stood framed in the window, looking back at me. It had been a wonderful, and altogether too short, trip from Paris to Istanbul. The three of us would fuck for hours, darting out for meals or human necessities, and Harold for his job as conductor. I had profoundly enjoyed myself, and although we all had exchanged addresses and promises to write often and—at some point in the future—to meet again; I couldn't help but feel a little melancholy upon leaving them. Tad was bound for Amman, and Harold would be taking the train back to Paris. It would be at least a year before I saw them again. Harold suggested I join them for Christmas next year at their family estate in Yorkshire, and Tad heartily agreed, even suggesting I come to Cornwall with them for the summer holiday. But alas, I now had more pressing matters to attend to. The communique I had received from Sir Rodgers’s assistant, Marcus Calloway, proposed meeting me in the main market square just outside the train station. I wandered through throngs of passengers: ladies with wide-brimmed hats and long dresses, gentlemen dressed smartly in suit coats and spats, as well as street vendors hawking their various wares, and gangs of urchins no older than 12 who were likely as not up to no good. The main entrance was easy enough to locate; I simply followed the general flow of people to a large entryway framed by tall glass windows. Locating Mr. Calloway however, was another challenge entirely. I stood at the top of the stairs, scanning the crowd, searching for anyone who could possibly be Marcus Calloway.

I frowned and glanced again at the telegram I had received, looking for any other clues as to Marcus’s identity. As I looked up again, I saw a tall man pushing his way through the crowd. The first clue was his flaxen hair, glinting a bright yellow in the dim light of the early evening. The second was the sign he held, a cardboard plaque that read ‘Lewis Simon’ in a careful, practiced script. I smiled, picked up my suitcase and strode toward him. The man spotted me and waved. I waved back.

“Mr. Calloway?” I asked.

“At your service, Mr. Simon.”

“Please,” I smiled and proffered my hand to him. “Call me Lewis.”

“Well, Lewis,” He returned my smile and grasped my outstretched hand with an iron grip. “You must call me Marcus then.”

Marcus was a tall man, but rail-thin. Relatively attractive, I thought. Then again, I was a sucker for anybody with a penis, and I hoped Marcus would waste no time in sharing his with me.

“We’d best be getting to the hotel,” he spoke, interrupting my sexual reveries. “I know a place where we can eat dinner, then I think we ought to go to bed. Early day tomorrow if we're to catch the boat to Alexandria.”

“Of course,” I replied cheerily, secretly hoping bed would involve a little more than just sleeping.

“Let me get that for you,” offered Marcus, as he picked up my suitcase. We set off into the maze of streets, and it wasn't long before we arrived at our hotel. We settled in to freshen up, then returned once more to the streets of Istanbul. Marcus had chosen a small, local restaurant for dinner, which was absolutely delicious. As we supped on rice, eggplant stew, and sardines, I took time to learn a little more about Marcus, and him about me. I told of my meeting with Sir Rodgers, sparing only a few of the more intimate details. I tried to gauge his reaction, but he only smiled politely and returned with his own story of coming into Sir Rodgers’s service: a rather dull tale about meeting at Oxford. When we returned to our lodgings: two private, neighboring rooms with a shared restroom, I again tried to seduce Marcus. I dropped hints about sharing a room, questioned him about his own sexual conquests (of which he remained coy), and finally boldly stripped down in front of him and chatted naked, hoping to catch him staring at my cock. He was elusive however, and my efforts were thwarted. Eventually I returned to my own room, horny and frustrated. I was not going to give up in my mission to seduce Marcus.

I awoke rather suddenly to the sound of squeaking bed springs. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and I squinted at my watch. It was barely 3am. The squeaking noise persisted, and was accompanied by periodic moans and grunts. I smiled realizing what was happening in the room next door. The walls were so thin I could make out every noise as if I were in the room itself. Old Marcus was getting laid. My cock hardened at the thought, and it wasn't long before I was touching myself and imagining the activities going on in the next room. 

“Oh! Fuck me! Fuck me, sir! Please!” I heard Marcus whisper loudly. He was desperately trying to keep quiet, stifling his moaning as best he could, but I heard every word. I stroked my cock slowly and gently, feeling it rise into the heat of my hand. I could picture Marcus’s pale, skinny ass being pounded into the headboard. I lightly brushed my fingers along the shaft of my cock down to my balls. Gently, I fondled them, listening to Marcus moaning in ecstasy. 

“Harder sir, please! Faster! Fuck my tight hole!”

I wondered who the lucky cock was that had eased its way inside Marcus. I'll admit, I was a little jealous. My hands brushed lower, and I slowly rubbed my puckering hole, eager for something to fill it. 

“Oh fuck, FUCK!!!” Marcus no longer stifled his cries, and I could tell he'd reached orgasm. I imagined his cock, spurting out a sticky load of cum all over his chest. I stroked my cock faster, and plunged a finger roughly inside my own ass. I moaned in time with Marcus as I unleashed my own load over my sweaty, quivering torso. I lay there, as waves of post-orgasmic satisfaction rolled over me. I took a finger and wiped a huge glob of sticky, white semen from my chest. I raised it too my lips and slurped my own salty seed down. Then something else caught my ear. It was Marcus. He spoke again.

“Ismail, babe. You're incredible—” his words were cut off by what I could only assume was a passionate kiss.

“You tell me,” another voice growled, who I supposed was Ismail. “Who is this boy you travel with?”

“Lewis Simon,” responded Marcus. My ears perked up at hearing my own name. “Don't worry about him. I only have eyes for you, dear Ismail.”

I rolled my eyes. No wonder the prude had refused my advances. Ismail spoke again.

“I do not worry about that.” I smiled as I heard this. So there was hope I could get into Marcus’s pants after all. “But of what importance is he to Sir Rodgers?”

Now this was interesting. The conversation had taken a different turn. I leaned closer to the wall, straining to hear the men.

“I do not know.” Replied Marcus. “Presumably, he's one of Sir Rodgers’s fuck toys, who seduced his way into a job.”

I frowned. That was rather rude. It so happened to be the other way around. Sir Rodgers had seduced me into a job.

“But I don't think we have to worry about him,” continued Marcus. “He poses no threat to our plans.”

Ismail growled again. “He'd better not. Or it'll be both our heads. The führer can't afford another mistake.”

The führer? My God, Marcus wasn't seriously…

“The führer will be well-pleased with my results. I received a telegram from Sir Rodgers today. They are on the brink of opening the tomb, and merely await my return to do so. What we find inside will bring the Third Reich glory beyond that of any empire before us!”

I lay there, shocked, my cum rapidly drying on my chest. Marcus was a spy? For the Nazis? I heard them speak again.

“I must go.” Ismail said. I heard shuffling as he rose from the bed and dressed. “Goodbye, my love. Do well and we shall be together forever. Heil Hitler!”

“Heil Hitler!” Responded Marcus. I heard the door open and shut. I jumped from my bed and cracked open my own door in time to see a burly, dark figure strut down the hallway. I shut the door and returned to my bed. What was I to do? I had to warn Sir Rodgers before Marcus got back. They were several days into the desert, a telegram wouldn't reach them fast enough. I had to go there myself, and before Marcus. I laid awake until I was certain Marcus had fallen asleep again. I rose and dressed myself, packing my things together. I would find a boat and sail to Egypt myself. I eased a large bureau out of my room, and placed it directly in front of Marcus’s door. Hopefully that would stall him enough to give me a head start. I rushed out of the hotel and into the streets of Istanbul.

I wandered around the docks, looking for anybody who spoke English. I needed to find a boat to Egypt. I had to get there before Marcus and warn Sir Rodgers about his treason! The docks were crowded with handsome men of all ethnicities. They gathered (often wearing barely a stitch of clothing) at dockside bars, and along the water, mending nets, gutting fish, drinking unhealthy amounts of beer, and trading stories of the various men and women they'd fucked. I stood out, a small, pale English boy in a well-tailored suit. Very well-tailored, I knew for sure, considering how familiar the tailor had gotten with my body. I caught more than a few curious glances as I stepped over boat moorings and baskets of bloody fish guts. I called out to them.

“Hello? Does anyone speak English?”

A swarthy Turkish man stepped up to me and said something in his native language. The other men at the bar laughed raucously, and I understood well enough that I was the butt of some joke. The man fondled my crotch most intimately, and said something else, inspiring additional laughter in the men at the bar. I pushed away, a little bit regretfully. In any other circumstance, I would have let the man violate me however he wished, but I was on a mission. I turned to walk away, calling to another group of passerbys:

“English please? Hello? I need to hire a boat!”

The swarthy Turkish man smacked my ass, and spoke in broken English:

“You want boat? I got boat.”

I turned back cautiously to face him, unsure if this was about to evolve into another joke at my expense.

“I got big boat. Where go?”

I stepped closer. “Egypt. Alexandria, please. I must get there as soon as possible! This is a dire emergency of national security!”

The man grunted. I could tell my urgency did not translate. 

“I take you to Alexandria.” He said. “You do something for me.”

I sighed in relief, and reached into my pocket to withdraw a large wad of cash. “How much?” I asked. He grabbed my hand and pushed it away.

“No money.” He said and stepped closer, grinding his hard crotch into my body. My eyes widened as I understood the payment I was to deliver. I swallowed and remembered Harold’s words: I’d lick every one of their cocks for king and country. It was time to do my part.

He pulled me into a nearby alleyway, and loosened his trousers. They dropped to the floor to reveal a massive weapon. The Turk’s cock was thick, heavy, and musky with the scent of sweat. He clearly didn't wash very often, and I grabbed his balls eagerly, inhaling their scent. His dark brown cock throbbed at my touch, and he grabbed my hair, jamming my face against the monstrous organ. I pushed back a little and stroked his furry belly and thighs. He was a big, thick man. Not fat, but well-built. His cock was equally well-built, a hefty tube of meat that rivaled Tad’s own penis. I stroked his rough, sun-tanned skin and gently lifted his cock to my lips. Slowly and carefully, I stretched out my tongue to lick just the tip of his meat. He moaned loudly and a glob of precum leaked from his slit. I smiled and licked him a little deeper, trailing my tongue all over his head. I lapped up the glob of precum and carefully fucked his piss slit with my tongue, eliciting more precum to leak from his monster cock. I stroked his shaft lightly, and rubbed his thighs. He grabbed my head, and thrust his cock deep down my throat. I nearly gagged. The man clearly wasn't in the mood for a slow and sensual encounter. His prick was much thicker than I had expected. I worked my mouth carefully on his penis, adjusting to the size. He eagerly shoved deep in my mouth again, and I had to push him back. I clutched his massive balls, and pulled on them gently. I fondled them with one hand and masturbated his shaft with the other. My mouth continued to work on his massive cockhead. I slipped my tongue beneath it and massaged the sensitive spot I knew most circumcised men had. The Turkish man was no different. He roared in pleasure, and thrust his fat dick in and out of my mouth, faster and faster and faster. I was delirious with his scent now; lust for his fat penis overruled any other sensation I had. His heavy, hairy testicles slapped against my chin. I felt them seize up as they released a massive load of cum. I felt his orgasm travel up through his shaft until he sprayed my throat with his semen. His load was so immense, cum dribbled out of the sides of my mouth. I released his cock and it continued to shoot volleys of his seed all over my face. He smiled with satisfaction. He grabbed his still hard cock and slapped me across the face with it.

“Good.” He laughed. “I take you now.”

I wiped cum out of my eyes, and watched as he walked out of the alley and into the bright sunlight of the dock. I had my boat ride. And I was definitely looking forward to the journey there.

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